(22)1b
by Brobdingnagian Pseudonym
Summary: After reichenbach, Sherlock moves in to 2311 N. los robles avenue under the alias Benedict Cumberbatch. Sheldon is threatened, Leonard is intrigued, Raj is enamored.
1. Chapter 1

**Just a silly crossover to pass the time. This chapter has sort of a story within a story moment. It was a bit tricky to write, but I hope it's easy enough to read.**

**Also, there might be things someone might consider spoilers for Star Trek: into darkness. If you haven't seen it, get up right now and go. Seriously. RIGHT NOW. GO.**

The freak in (22)1b

Sheldon's log

Earth date 6/27/13

A man moved into the apartment building a week ago. He claims he's an actor by the name of Benedict Cumberbatch, but I can't believe any of it. It's all too... perfect. His voice, his mannerisms, his facial expressions, his career. I believe that he's an actor. Just more so than he lets on. I think he's smart and dangerous and none of my '_friends'_ will listen to me. They've all fallen for his _charm_ or whatever other forms of mind-control he used on them. I can't blame them too much. I would've fallen under his control as well, if I was any less than the superior genius that I am.

So, if you're reading this, it's already too late. Benedict's true nature has been revealed and nothing can stop him from going through with his diabolical plans, whatever they may be. I will be recording his actions from the moment I met him so that maybe you might benefit from understanding how this has come to pass. Also, I'd like to point out that I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. _I. Told. You. So._

It all started the day he moved in, last sunday. I had yet to come into direct contact, but that afternoon I had a run-in with Penny on the stairs. And, lovable gossipmonger that she is, told me all about her recent encounter with 'the new guy'. I'll recount it to you as I eidetic memory recalls it.

"Have you met the new guy in 1b?" She asked, breaking the pleasant silence as we ascended the stairs. I shook my head, knowing that once she gets started there's no way to stop her. "I helped him unpack a little this morning. He's _such _a sweet heart. At first he was a little reluctant to let me in, but I told him about how I helped my uncle jeff set up his barn and he let up.

" 'Well, they do say two heads are better than one.' He said in this really deep british accent. He has a gorgeous voice. 'Or in this case, four hands.' He winked as he tore open the nearest cardboard box. I could've swooned.

"We spent the next hour mostly just setting up furniture and unloading boxes. Then I found a human skull in one of them. I asked if it was his, just to make sure he wasn't a serial killer or something. It looked pretty real to me.

" 'Ah, yes. Friend of mine. Helped me get through a particularly difficult adaptation of 'Hamlet' back in London. Just leave him on the coffee table.' I could barely believe it. Tall, handsome and an actor. I thought I had died and was staring at an angel.

" 'Oh, you're an actor? so am I!' His mint green eyes brightened like a little boy finding his lost puppy.

" 'No kidding! Oh, this is fantastic. Any good roles?' He said as he pushed the last armchair into place. We bonded over the hardships of acting and tea. He's in the new Star Trek movie, isn't that great? He says he's the bad dude..." I swore the stairs got longer with every step we took, but still she rambled on.

While most of her ranting was meaningless drivel, some of it set off some major red lights.

1) The human skull. He refered to it as 'friend' and 'he'. These can not be good signs.

2) Penny liked him. Based on past experience, men that Penny feels attracted to are liars, bodybuilders, idiots or some awful combination of the above. (Except for Leonard. [Actually, never mind about Leonard. I don't think Penny was ever actually attracted to him.]) So at best, we have a lying idiot. At worst, we have a deceptive hulk.

3) The villain in Star Trek into darkness is rumored to be Khan. Who was originally played by Ricardo Montalban. Who was a full-blooded mexican. Casting Khan as a british man in the new movie would be outright disregard for the original and will not be forgiven.*

Luckily, for the sake of my sanity, I did not get the _pleasure_ of meeting him until yesterday. Leonard and I had been coming home from the comic book store when we heard what sounded like an explosion from what we later found to be Benedicts apartment. Leonard insisted that we check it out, even though I told him that it was probably just some inconsiderate idiot watching an action movie on full blast. His knightly sense of chivalry may be admirable at times, but it mostly just gets in the way.

"Hey, a-are you alright in there?" He squeaked, rapping on the door nervously. I noticed that the resident had scrawled the number twenty two beside the apartment number 1b. I think it might've been gang code or something. Perhaps a marker so his henchmen could find him.

"Yes, yes. Everything's fine. That was supposed to happen." The resident assured us. We were just about to walk away when a high-pitched sizzle seeped through the door. "That, however, is not! Stand clear of the door!" There were a few dull thuds and a crash followed by a six-foot man in a dressing gown and plastic safety googles bursting through the door. He leaned against the closed door, gasping. That is when it became obvious that we had a deceptive hulk on our hands.

"...What was that?" Leonard asked, breaking the shocked silence.

"Oh, just a... chemical reaction gone awry." He tore the googles from his head and shook out his curls like a model for a hair dye commercial. "Benedict Cumberbatch. Nice to meet you." I looked back up at the apartment number while Leonard stumbled through his own introductions and decided something was definitely wrong. What's an actor doing coducting experiments with explosive chemicals?

"...Penny told me you were an actor." I eyed him suspiciously but he seemed uneffected.

"It's a hobby." He pulled his lips into what people would call a winning smile. "Say, my flat is going to need some time to... air out. Would you mind terribly if I... came up to your place for tea?"

My hair-brained friend welcomed him into our apartment with a friendly smile and enthusiastic chatter. Whenever I tried to subtly protest he'd make up some excuse like 'this is a great opportunity to get to know the neighbors!' and 'he could be a great ally!'. I tried to make him see that something's very very wrong with him and even if we did befriend him, we don't have any extra seats for new friends and we'd have to eliminate a current friend. Howard may be the weakest link and thus the most exchangable, but I don't think another actor would be much of an upgrade.

Despite my subtle protests, he was let into our home and we chatted as is the custom. I tried to shake what I then thought as paranoia but now know to be common sense. Yet, I couldn't help but notice that Benedict took an unusual interest in our lives and kept from saying much at all about his own. I believe he might be keeping secrets.

The most damning detail was that, as he was leaving our apartment an hour later, he said the following as a farewell.

"Also, If anyone by the name of Mycroft Holmes, Jim or James Moriarty, Richard Brook, Ricky Waters, Sebastian Moran, Greg Lestrade, Irene Adler, or The Woman come asking for me or anyone of my description, you don't anything. Clear?"

If those aren't the words of a criminal mastermind with many enemies, I don't know what is.

***These are not my own opinions, just what I would assume Sheldon would think on the matter. Benedict is amazing in Star Trek (of course he is. He always is). And casting a white dude was actually a good decision, considering that Khan is literally a crash-a-ship-into-a-building terrorist. Casting anyone of ethnic descent would have the possibility of reinforcing the belief that all foreigners areout to get us or some crap like that.**


	2. Chapter 2

**If I hadn't made it clear already, this story takes place post-reichenbach so Sherlock is in 'hiding' and John is... probably getting married.**

**I'm going to be alternating point of views for every chapter. This one's Sherlock. The next one will be... I'm not sure. Maybe Leonard. But it's still wide open. So if anyone has any suggestions...**

**This chapter is mostly just Sherlock suffering from culture shock and a broken heart.**

John, have I ever told you how much I hate America? I must have. But I might as well tell you again. I. Despise. America. I don't have anything against their government or their culture or laws. (I'm not fond of those things either, I just don't give a damn) What really pisses me off is the stupid accents. And their refusal to properly use the letter U. And the sun. God, I'm bound to get melanoma no matter how much how much sunscreen I use. And the tea! How the bloody hell do they get _boiled leaves _wrong?

The only redeeming quality of this blasted country is their fondness for guns. The guys at the shooting range not only know me by name, but by nickname. Big ben. One of them fancies me and never hesitates to make it very clear how he'd like to 'ride big ben'. How stupid is that? It's a clock tower, not an amusement park ride. I deeply regret choosing 'Benedict Cumberbatch' as an alias. Why didn't you tell me how many terrible innuendos could be made out of it before I had Mycroft make it official?

Oh right. You're not actually here. I keep forgetting that. I don't know how. There are so many reminders about how not here you are everywhere. All the cups of tea you don't make. How much bigger all my clothes seem to be getting. All the body parts in the fridge you don't move. The lack of food in that fridge.

I never thought I'd miss the porn viruses you kept infecting my computer with. But when you miss someone, you miss all of them.

The world feels lawless and lopsided when you're not here to push a steaming cup into my hand and I'm not there to drink the second cup you undoubtably still make. But you've probably found someone else to drink the extra cup by now. I'm not sure which of us has it worse. You had to watch me die but you get to move on and get married and have babies and live dull, happy life. I have to watch you live, knowing I'll never have a better friend. Or lover. Or bodyguard. Or doctor. I can't come to terms with the ever-present probability that I'll never talk to you again.

Which is probably why I'm always talking to you lately.

Oh, someone's knocking on the door. Five knocks in a humorous rythmic pattern. Must be Penny here to flirt. Excuse me.

"Hell-OH! You're... very naked. Is this a bad time?" Her chipper, nails-on-chalkboard voice squeaks nervously. I don't know what's got her so flustered. She's had carnal relations with at least fifty men. It's not like she's seeing anything new. But, being true to my alias, I force out a shocked gasp and slam the door. Then, as I pretend to scramble for my dressing gown, I dab hot tea on my face and neck to stimulate blood flow to the skin and simulate nervous sweating. After a minute I open the door, gasping and tugging the tie of my blue dressing gown tightly closed. I'm putting on a great show. You'd be so impressed, John. Or perhaps apalled at my lack of regard for 'acceptable behaviour'.

"I-I'm s-so sorry. I w-w-was taking a nap and I guess I didn't... realize." I grimace in a fashion which I know Penny would interpret as cute.

"Oh? That's weird. I... thought I heard you heard you talking to someone." Was I doing that out loud? Before the fall, I was always surprised whenever you told me you weren't there to hear me talking. Now that it's a given, I'm surprised to find that others _can_ hear me when I'm talking to you.

"Yes, we-well. LAMDA taught me to always enunciate clearly. Even when unconcious." I smile bashfully, my voice fluttering with nervous laughter. I know that, paired with the light blush, the breathlessness and the limited clothing, the sight must have quite the effect on her. But don't be jealous, John. You know better than anyone it's only an act. She's a young, pretty yet assertive woman. If she doesn't have at least three suitors hanging off her every word, I'd be wrong. And I'm never wrong. She also knows how to hunt and use a baseball bat. It would be beneficial to have an alliance with her. And you know very well she's not exactly my type.

"Right. Of course. I-I just came down here because the guys are playing guitar her-well... it's rock star, but they're **exactly** the same thing no matter what Sheldon says... and anyways they tend to get really into it and... I just needed to get out." She scrambles for words. The matter is quite clear to me. A group of her male friends (The way she refers to them as 'the guys' is affectionate, diminutive, and not in any way romantic. Meaning none of them are her type but at least some of them probably find her attractive which is why they keep her around. They probably allow her to eat their food every once and a while and borrow necesities which is how she's come to know them so well.) were playing out a fantasy of being in a rock band and the terrible sound of it drove her out of her place. But for the sake of my alias, I play dumb.

"... loud neighbours?" She nods. "I know how that is. I once lived near a man who'd fire guns at random times of the day and night." VERY near.

"But... aren't guns illegal over there?" Indeed. I have no idea why Mrs. Turner and the married ones next door didn't call the cops. Wait no, it must've been Mrs. Hudson. She can be incredibly persuasive when she needs to be. But I think you know that.

"Yeah. That's what baffles me. Well, come in. I'll make you a cup of tea and put on some real clothes."

"Aw, you don't have to do that." She says as she flops gracelessly into a chair.

"...I know california is pretty lax about nudity, but-"

"Clothes. Yeah. No. Clothes are good. I'm very much pro-clothes." I chuckle lightly at her lame joke as I pour a cup of actual tea. Nope of that lipton bullshit.

"Now, this is real tea. I know it might be a bit intense for your delicate american taste buds, but don't let it blow your mind too much." I tease, setting your old mug in front of her. Yes, I stole it before I left. But honestly, it's just a mug. You shouldn't miss it too much. And I Ieft my favourite purple shirt as compensation. Well. It's more your favourite than mine. But your... responses when I wore it were my favourite. So that should count for something.

When I re-enter the room after changing, I find Penny casually reading over a stack of papers. Information on the key criminals in Moriarty's organization. Although I know she'd be unlikely to suspect anything of me, I think it'd be safest if she didn't get too close a look at those.

"I'd rather you put those down." I suggest casually. Being careful not to sound alarmed or worried. She shrugs and sets the stack back onto the table. "They have a tendency to fly about when handled. I'd hate to have to put them back in order again." I explain as I re-jack-knife the papers to the coffee table.

"Doesn't that... damage the table?"

"It's a cheap table." I reply casually, slumping back in my chair at relaxed angle that must be wrecking havoc on my spine. Ah the lengths we go through to uphold aliases.

"Right... Well, I guess there's no way it's going anywhere." She jokes awkwardly. "I saw your movie the other day. You know, Star Trek? The guys are super into sci-fi and well, you're in it so I tagged along with them. Everyone thought it was amazing! Even Sheldon couldn't critisize it... much."

"Oh, thank you. It means so much to be complemented by a fellow actor." Her entire person is screaming with 'actor wannabe'. A little girl with big dreams and all that hollywood bullshit. Believe it or not, most actor wannabes are actually more tolerable than most actual actors. But, alas. The more well known I make this persona, the less likely I am to be discovered. The only way I could become more well-known than a super star actor is by becoming the president. And, while it might be easy enough to fake a birth certificate, I'd rather die than adopt their idiotic accent and start misspelling rumour.

"I'm... not sure I can really call myself an actor..." No. You can't. The most you've performed in your 'career' is a backstreet theatre role. Perhaps a bit in a commercial at best. "At least, not one of your caliber." Oh god. I could practically _hear _her misspelling 'calibre'.

"Please. We all have a rough start. I started out trying to squeeze shakespeare into my dance routine at a strip club." My real rise to fame was a combination of favours earned from cases years ago and shameless blackmail. It's shocking how many producers are cheating on their spouses. "As a beginning actor, all you can really do is hope someone will stumble onto you and try not to be dead drunk when they do."

"Yeah. That sounds about right." She falls into a thoughtful silence. "Hey, Benedict. I was just thinking..."

Really? I would've never guessed anyone ever does.

"Maybe we should... I don't know.. get coffee some time?" Of course. The coffee offer. I can't play oblivious like I did with Molly and Irene. She's too... American. And I don't need her fawning over me. She lives too close. It's one thing to get an occasional suggestive text from a dominatrix or have a mortician making cow eyes at you every week or so in the lab. But having a painfully extroverted Californian drooling over you three floors above your head is an entirely different matter. I can't just turn her down either. That produces a possiblitly that she'll still pine over me and that's so annoying when the one doing the pining isn't you. You were adorable when you were going through your little sexuality crisis, John. Always sneaking glances when you thought I was occupied. As if I wouldn't notice. As if there was anything about you I hadn't memorized and filed away. Now enough of that, I need a reason to turn her down. Dead relative? No. That might just make her think I need someone. Well, I do. But I'm not getting you back any time soon if at al- WAIT! JOHN! YOU'RE NOT EVEN HERE AND STILL YOU'RE BRILLIANT! "I mean... do you even drink coffee?"

I'm from a different country, not a different planet. Not the sharpest, is she? I bet she'd get along quite well with your ex-girlfriends.

I bury my head in my hands and let out a strangled sob in response to her question. She sputters out a flurry of apologies and by the time I lift my head I have tears streaming down my face. I've always been proud of my ability to cry on cue.

"I-it doesn't have to be coffee." She scrambles in a panic, patting my shoulder reassuringly. Yes. Of course. Because I'm definitely having a breakdown over _coffee._

"It-it's not you or... or the coffee. I just- I just haven't... I mean I-... I'm in love with an idiot... an-and I'll never... Ooohohohooo." I sob, brokenheartedly. It honestly doesn't take too much acting. Just a little exaggeration. Yes, it's overdramatic, but you already know how dramatic I can be. And judging from the half-hug Penny is now giving me, she's eating it up.

"Oh sweetie. I'm so sorry! Go on. Tell me about it. Just let it out." She hands me a tissue box and rubs my back. I actually wish she wouldn't. I just now remember why I don't cry. I hate being reassured. And, of course, I've never really felt an urge to cry. My mother's funeral was the most awkward experience of my life.

"Hi-his name was John." I start, whimpering pathetically. "We lived together for three years." I may as well tell the truth. It makes the lies so much more palatable.

"...Ohhh." She exclaims in realization. Probably assuming I'm gay. "Oh honey." She croons.

"He had 165 different smiles." Of those 165, 70% of your smiles mean 'I'm going to hurt you', 20% mean 'I'm trying very hard not to hurt you', and the remaining 10% are dedicated to how brilliant, amazing or fantastic I'm being at any particular time. My favourite is your 'I would have you, right here, on this desk, until you've begged for mercy twice' smile. After all these shenanigans are over, I might make a catalogue of your smiles, like the catalogue of tobacco ash which you so frequently ridicule.

"And terrible taste in jumpers. And I... I..." Turning the waterworks up a notch. "I might as well be dead to hi-hi-hiiiiim." You brought flowers to my funeral and everything. It was touching, really.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." She coos, practically pulling me into her lap. Dammit I wish she'd just stop _touching_ me. I'm practically drowning in her cheap perfume. "What happened between you two?" Tricky. I can't exactly say the truth now, can I?

"I had to move here for the film... an-and he had work back in london. At first everything was fine. He understood it wasn't... wasn't supposed to be permanent but... It came down to-to a choice between John and my career and... God, I would've dropped my career in a second but h-he-he wouldn't-... I don't understaaaaaaand." I sob into Penny's shoulder.

"Shhh. You're alright. I'm sure he just wanted you to follow your dreams!" That little story sounds nothing like you, actually. You'd cling to the tail of the aeroplane to LA to be near me if you had to. Hell, you could kill a man with a pea shot through a straw if you thought my life depended on it. Your nearly blind loyalty was always my favourite part of you. I'm lucky you hadn't followed me to the grave.

"He was my dreams. All of them." A good chunk of them would make a porn star blush. And the rest have to do with bees and murder.

"Oh, I know honey. I know." I let the tears gradually dry up until I'm just sniffling against Penny's bony shoulder. God crying makes my eyes so _sore_. I don't know why anyone bothers with it. "Say, the guys across the hall from me have pizza every thursday. I know they don't mind a little extra company. Why don't you with me and introduce you to them?"

Hmm... the more connections I have in the community, the more plausible my alias is. It might also help me keep a look out on the happenings in this area. Although I've already gathered plenty information on Moriarty's current agents, it would benefit me to keep my eyes open. "Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude..."

"It's no intrusion! I mean, you already met Leonard and Sheldon." Oh, of course. The physicists in 4a. One of them (Leonard, most likely, as Sheldon is asexual or at the very least strictly celibate. Possibly due to his misanthropic views on the rest of society. Or possibly due being raised by severely religious mother. Actually, no. He rejects his mother's ideals. Sheldon must be asexual by nature.) must be obessed with Penny and thus takes any opprotunity to be in contact with her. As she has poor money management skills (new clothes but cheap hair and skin products. She buys clothes on an impulse but buys the cheapest necessities possible) and works as a waitress (saw her in uniform in the hall) she never turns down an opprotunity to eat for free. Therefore, the residents of 4a allow her to eat their food whenever she wishes just to quench Leonard's thirst for her company. Much like feeding a stray cat. "It might take your mind off things..."

I doubt it. I have an exceptionally large mind.

But... Leonard and Sheldon work at the nearby university. As they are genius level and subscribe to the generic personality types of a nerd, they usually have a hard time befriending non-genius non-nerds. Meaning, the other 'guys' that they could've befirended must also work at the university. The university probably has equipment that I might find useful. Befriending them may allow me entrance into the facility to use it.

"Well, if you insist."


End file.
